


Of Kris Kringle and the Power of Suggestion

by CasablancaInTheTardis



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasablancaInTheTardis/pseuds/CasablancaInTheTardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would later occur to them that it was not in the least bit surprising that they had drawn one another’s names in the Kris Kringle - given that Raven was in charge of its organisation - but neither could have anticipated the outcome of something as innocuous as gift giving at Christmas time.</p><p> </p><p>In which Raven rigs Kris Kringle at Xavier Mansion so that Charles and Erik must find each other the perfect gifts, in the misguided (or completely spot-on) hope that they will realise their undying love for one another.<br/>Fluffiness, confusion, denial and more fluff ensue. Light on the angst, because it's a Christmas fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You do realise, Raven, that Erik is, in fact, Jewish, and therefore doesn’t celebrate Christmas but, rather, Hanukkah?” Charles asked Raven while they were cleaning the dishes in the cavernous Xavier kitchen. They had all just been forced into drawing names from a hat for the traditional yuletide ritual of Kris Kringle. Hank was the one who had suggested it and organised the hat and slips of paper, but Charles had a sneaking suspicion that his sister was the brains behind the operation.

  
“Of course I do, but that just means that you’ll have to get him eight presents, doesn’t it?” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she picked up a tea-towel.

“You rigged it, didn’t you?” Charles accused with a frown. “That’s not exactly in the Christmas spirit.”

“Who cares about spirit? All I’m interested in is what happens when you two, through the act of giving and receiving thoughtful gifts, eventually realise your feelings for each other,” Raven said matter-of-factly.

Charles spluttered, nearly dropping the glass he was holding above the sink. “What? What feelings? I have no- where did you even... What?”

“Oh please, Charles, I have eyes,” she replied, turning to face him, hand on hip. “It’s obvious that the two of you like each other. The looks you give one another when you think no one else is looking-”

“I look at him no differently to anyone else-” Charles began.

“You look at him like he’s a puzzle you want to, no, need to solve. Like he’s something new and shiny. And the way he looks at you. You probably don’t see it, but it’s honestly as though he’s imagining you without clothes on. It’s awkward to be in the same room!”

“Now, Raven, you are getting carried away. There’s nothing between Erik and I but friendship and a mutual respect for one another’s abilities.”  
Raven snorted.

“No, really we are just friends. And what’s the cause for this sudden interest in my perceived love life, anyway? You’ve never tried to set me up with anyone before.”

He tried not to read her thoughts but sometimes she was so loud it was as though she was broadcasting them on purpose. He caught bits of ‘mutant’ and ‘equals’ and ‘frustration’ but the loudest thought was the one that came to her lips after a moments pause.

“You’re my brother, Charles, I just want to see you happy.”

And with that she set down the tea-towel and exited the room, leaving her brother with a flurry of confusing new thoughts and a pile of dirty dishes.

\---

That night was an unsettling one for Charles, whose regular pre-REM-cycle routine to methodically empty his mind of all thought was interrupted with flashes of ‘what should I give Erik?’ and stray thoughts of loaded looks and lingering touches. Flushed and feeling not at all how a professor of genetics in charge of training a band of young mutants for the CIA should feel, Charles rolled out of bed at two AM and padded down the stairs to the kitchen in search of a glass of milk and peace of mind.

Unfortunately for the telepath, on that particular night, peace of mind was never an option.

Upon flipping the light switch, Charles found none other than the subject of his restless thoughts sitting at the kitchen bench, casually eating a bowl of sugary cereal as though it wasn’t the middle of the night. To his credit, Erik at least had the decency to look sheepish at being caught snacking without his shirt on. He wore only striped pyjama pants (that looked oddly similar to Charles’), his dressing gown neatly folded over the back of his chair.

Charles gave a start, and clutched a hand to his chest reflexively, causing Erik to smirk in his general direction.

“Erik, so sorry! I didn’t realise anyone else would be here at this time. Surprised me,” he said, starting to feel the blush creep up on his cheeks. Damn Raven and the infinitely embarrassing power of suggestion!

“Really, I’d never have guessed, Charles,” Erik intoned sarcastically, but with a smirk that meant it was intended in good fun.

“Wh-why are you up so late?” Charles asked, trying to regain some composure.

“Same reason as you, I’d imagine. I couldn’t sleep,” Erik replied, handing Charles the bottle of milk.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Charles offered as he poured himself a glass. “Sometimes that can help to empty the mind.”

“I somehow doubt that you would enjoy discussing what’s on my mind,” Erik said, levelling a challenging eye at Charles.

“Shaw?” the shorter man asked, although he already knew that it could be nothing else. Erik nodded shortly, giving no indication of wanting to discuss the matter further. They sat for a moment in silence, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator in the back ground.

“What troubles you at this hour, Charles?” Erik asked after a while.

“Oh, this and that,” he replied evasively. Erik gave him a look that made Charles feel as though his mind was being read, so he added, “I don’t know what to give to my Kris Kringle.”

To his surprise, Erik let out a small laugh- no, a chuckle, and Charles was caught between realising that he had rarely, if ever, heard Erik laugh before, and realising that the sound of it was making him blush. Again.

“Charles, only you would be kept awake by something so altruistic,” he said with- was that- a touch of fondness in his voice?

“Gift-giving is hardly altruistic, my friend,” Charles countered.

“But you know what I mean. Only you would be troubled enough by pleasing and giving to others that it would keep you up at night.”

Charles vaguely registered that Erik made a valid point - he was being rather silly - but, then again, Erik wasn’t aware of the other thoughts that were keeping the Xavier heir awake.

“It’s just that I want to get them something perfect, but I haven’t known them that long which makes the process unavoidably harder.”

“None of us have known each other very long,” Erik pointed out, getting up to place his bowl in the sink. Charles tried not to notice how broad Erik’s shoulders were or how his lean torso appeared even more defined under the combination of moon and ceiling light. Needless to say he failed.

“In any case, I’ll be getting to bed. There’s only so long one can ponder inventive ways of killing another human before one is exhausted and mildly repulsed,” he said conversationally, but catching the wince on Charles’ face, he continued. “I’m sorry, Charles. I know you don’t like to hear-”

“It’s all right,” he interrupted. “I mean, it’s not. But... I understand.” There was another brief pause in which their eyes locked on one another’s, with Erik in the doorway and Charles still sat at the bench, and something seemed to pass between them. Something indefinable. Charles’ acknowledgement of understanding had shifted their balance and now neither was sure where he stood. Erik was the first to snap out of it, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight, Charles,” he said, his voice somewhat gruff, before turning on heel and making haste up the stairs. Charles thought he heard a distant, retreating thought (even though he’d been trying not to read Erik’s mind) - _Well, fuck, I had better get him a good Christmas present now_.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Erik awoke to find a small parcel at the foot of his bed, poorly wrapped in blue paper with a silver ribbon. His curiosity well and truly piqued - for it was still eight days until Christmas - he slid smoothly from the bed and padded over to scoop it up. The note attached read To Erik, Happy Hanukkah, from KK in neat cursive. Carefully peeling off the sticky-tape - for he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually given him a present - Erik found a grey photo album with the date written neatly in the corner in the same handwriting as the note. He opened it to find it empty save for one picture that had been taken barely a week earlier by Moira of he, Charles and their ragtag band of mutants in front of the Xavier mansion.

In it, Charles is wearing his patented professorial look of shirt, knitted vest and jacket with elbow patches (not to mention fingerless gloves) and has his hand on Erik’s shoulder in such a way that looks completely natural, as though they’ve known each other all their lives. Erik, in his usual black turtleneck and leather jacket, is even smiling in the photo. Not his broad, shark-like smile that is reserved for times when he is well and truly overjoyed, but his quiet smile that is rarely used (although lately, it’s rather commonplace, he realises). Raven is standing next to Charles, with Hank on her other side (Erik takes note of his awkward body language - the poor kid), while Darwin, Sean and Angel sit in front of them on the grass, only Alex brave enough to stand next to the formidable metal-bender.

Even though none of them have known each other long, they’re bound together by that which sets them apart from society. Erik smiled - his quiet smile - and tightened his grip on the album ever so slightly. It had been a long time since he’d felt a part of something bigger than his search for Shaw. It was almost like being part of a family.

 

Outside Erik’s door, Charles loiters anxiously. When he finally feels, more than hears, Erik’s response, he leaves, satisfied.

 _Touched-calm-belonging_.

One down, seven to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but I hope it adequately sums up how Erik feels about belonging to the X-men, even if he thinks there are more important things


	3. Chapter 3

Charles is surprised by how easy it is to choose presents for Erik, his earlier concerns having been for nothing. So far, in the lead up to Christmas, the mysterious German had received a photo album, followed by a camera and, on the third day, a bag full of metal ball bearings, a length of wire and a note that read To Erik, to help you practise and realise your true potential, KK. It was at this point that Erik had put two and two together and had worked out that his secret gift-giver was Charles.

 

At first he was suspicious. What were the odds that they would draw one another’s names from the hat? Undoubtedly Raven had something to do with it. It had her scheming written all over it. Then he was caught off guard with a rush of gratitude - even though the aim of the game was one Kris Kringle gift on Christmas Eve, Charles had taken into consideration Erik’s faith and had decided to abide by their traditions of eight days of presents, which was not only thoughtful but very generous. And then Erik was struck by a moment of apprehension - what on earth was he going to give Charles? And furthermore, should he let Charles know that he knows the identity of his secret santa and order him to stop being so generous as it is unnecessary? Erik decided that the only course of action was to confront the suspected cause of his troubles - Raven.

 

“If you’re using half your concentration to look normal, then you’re only half paying attention to whatever else you’re doing...” Erik drawled, leaning against the doorframe of the gym where a distinctly blonde Raven was currently lifting weights.

“Why do I feel as though we’ve had this conversation before?” she replies sardonically. “I have a feeling you’re not here to talk to me about mutant pride.”

“No, you’re quite right,” Erik agreed, levitating the barbells away from the now blue girl so that they might talk undistracted. “I wanted to ask you why you rigged the Kris Kringle.”

“Ah, so you worked out that Charles drew you!” Raven grinned, “Excellent!”

“No, it most certainly is not excellent,” Erik said, frowning. “Why would you set us up like that?” he asked, frowning at his poor choice of words.

“I will only say to you what I’ve already said to Charles. We, the mutant community living in this mansion believe that through the age old tradition of gift giving, your good metal-bending self and my dear, telepathic brother will miraculously realise your undying affection for one another, have passionate sex - probably in the library or Charles’ study - and then live happily ever after.”

When all she received were blank looks, she rolled her eyes.

“You are hot for Charles. Charles is hot for you. Unresolved sexual tension - it’s really quite straightforward.”

More blank looks.

“Okay... Well, I need to get back to training,” she said impatiently, going back to her weights. Erik hastened to gather his wits about him; the initial comments had thrown him off, but it was obvious that Raven was just talking rubbish.

“I have absolutely no idea to what you are referring,” he began, “But, I’m here in this mansion for one reason and one reason only. To find Shaw and kill him.”

“You could have done that already,” Raven said simply, grunting a little as she hoisted the barbell back over her head. “We both know what’s really keeping you here, and the sooner you admit to it, the happier the rest of us will all be.”

 

Erik, utterly perplexed and more than a little surprised at Raven’s tone, walked out of the room and straight into the man in question. Charles stumbled backwards, the papers he was carrying flying right out of his hands.

“Charles, what are you doing here?” Erik asked stupidly, without offering to help steady the telepath. Charles raised an eyebrow.

“Well I was rather under the impression that this was my house, Erik,” his ridiculously red lips quirking up in the corner. “But I was on my way to show these papers to Hank. Fascinating genetic theories pertaining to the varying strains of mutation in the homo-superior...” he trailed off, blushing slightly. “But I shan’t bore you with the details.”

Erik inwardly breathed a sigh of relief - Charles really had been absorbed in the reports so there was a slim chance that he had heard what Raven had said, or thought.

“I’d better get back to... Training,” Erik said.

“You mean back to obsessing over Shaw,” Charles said shrewdly. He held up a hand to stop Erik’s obvious protest. “I know as well as you do why you’re here, my friend.” A tiny part of Erik’s brain wondered if Charles was just referring to Shaw or if he shared Raven’s opinions.

Charles continued, “I’ve said it before, killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

“And you know my views on peace, Charles,” Erik said, hating the look of disappointment that crossed his friend’s face at his own harsh tone. Disappointing Charles was perhaps the hardest part of his mission. Killing Shaw was definitely not going to pose moral conflict, but how much it upset Charles caused a curious twist of something in Erik’s chest. Realising that he’d gotten carried away with his thoughts, Erik nodded slightly at Charles as if to say goodbye and continued down the corridor.

 _“Peace can be an option if you’ll only let it be,”_ echoed Charles’ voice in Erik’s head.

 _“Stay out of my head, Charles,”_ he replied, _“You won’t like what you find.”_

And to be honest, Erik wasn’t sure what Charles would find now.

Bloody Raven and her bloody powers of suggestion.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles wandered away from that conversation frowning. Erik clearly thought himself to be dark and twisted and damaged - why else would he have warned Charles to stay out of his mind? And Charles could see it on Erik’s face. There was pride at having come so far with his powers, but it was mingled with a self-loathing, the kind that came of finding killing so dreadfully easy. Erik was troubled, indeed, but if only he would let Charles help him, let him help the metal-bender to become a better man. Charles had as much as admitted that he understood Erik’s need to avenge his mother, but that didn’t mean he condoned Erik’s planned violence. But it was more than that - he didn’t want Erik to have to kill. He didn’t want that to be on Erik’s conscience. He hated the thought of what it might do to Erik, or who Erik could become after achieving this life goal.

Charles’ frown deepened.

It would appear that his objections over Shaw’s impending and inevitable termination were not completely moral ones, but rather that they were formed because of his feelings for Erik.

“Feelings, what feelings?” Charles muttered to himself. “This is completely ridiculous.”

“What’s completely ridiculous?” Hank asked, coming to the door of his room, where Charles had been stood for at least a minute, muttering to himself.

“Oh, err, my apologies, Hank. Off in my own world for a minute there,” Charles said, forcing a smile on to his face. Hank returned the smile, a little too knowingly for Charles’ liking.

“I brought these papers for you, they’re rather fascinating,” the telepath said, hoping to distract the boy with shiny scientific treats. His plan worked, Hank taking the papers eagerly, all smirks erased.

“Before I forget,” Hank said suddenly, looking up, “Raven said she wanted to see you about something.”

“Did she? I wonder what?” Charles muttered to himself.

“I expect you can probably guess,” Hank replied, shooting the professor a sideways glance.

It didn’t take a genius (or a telepath, for that matter) to guess what Hank was alluding to.

“Not you, too,” Charles groaned. “What do I have to do to convince you two of my purely platonic feelings for Erik?”

“Forgive me, professor, but from my observations, your thoughts aren’t one hundred percent platonic when it comes to that man,” Hank said, clearly apologetic.

“Did Raven put you up to this, Hank, because I’m starting to get more than a little annoyed at her,” Charles said with a frown.

“She did suggest that there might be something more between yourself and mister Lehnsherr. However, my agreeing to help rig the Kris Kringle was based on my analysis of your interactions with one another and subsequent conclusion that Raven was, in fact, correct.” Charles just stood gaping at poor Hank, until the latter decided to continue.

“There’s the, uh, dilated pupils, your inclination to blushing around his person, the pheromones that both your bodies excrete around each other-”

“Hank, please,” Charles begged.

“And, of course, the way you look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking. Although that observation carries less scientific basis, I thought it necessary to include, nonetheless,” Hank added hastily.

After a moment of silence, in which Hank sheepishly returned to reading the papers, and Charles was motionless trying to process the so called ‘scientific data’, before Charles made a small (and if Hank was correct, whimpering) noise and promptly left the room. Hank sighed in relief. Raven was right, this was going to take some hard work.

 

Charles stormed down the corridor, intent on finding Raven and giving her a good telling off for involving Hank in her scheme. Why was everyone so intent on getting he and Erik together?

Erik.

Charles shook his head, trying to clear it of all thoughts of the man.

All thoughts of his serious voice and his leather jackets, of his piercing eyes and sardonic smile. Thoughts of him without his jacket or his turtleneck, thoughts of what could’ve happened in those motel rooms when they were travelling the country in search of recruits. If only Erik hadn’t offered to sleep on the couch or Charles hadn’t been too tired to protest...

 

Raven had finished her work out and was snuggled up with a magazine and a cup of cocoa by the time Charles found her.

 _“Exactly how many people have you told your little ‘Erik and Charles belong together’ theory to, Raven?”_ he demanded telepathically, hands balled into angry fists.

The girl in question raised an eyebrow. She had, quite possibly, never seen her brother this mad. Disappointed, yes. Frustrated, occasionally, but never this way. He looked to be a combination of angry, frightened and confused. He never projected his thoughts if he could help it, either. She put down her mug and walked over to him, placing her hands over his, his blue eyes flickering from anger to confusion and then to uncertainty.

“Charles, it’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay to admit it.”

He shook his head and Raven was surprised to see his eyes looked a little glassy.

“Oh, Charles,” she said pulling him into a hug.

 

An hour later found the pair of them still in the library, a now half empty bottle of scotch between them, Raven sitting at one end of a leather couch with Charles’ head in her lap.

“So, let me get this straight. You think Erik is clever-”

“He tracked down Shaw all by himself,” Charles agreed.

“You think he’s funny-”

“He’s witty. Sarcastic. I like that.”

“You think he’s handsome-”

“I believe my words were completely fuck-able, but handsome works, too.”

“Charles, I do believe you’re in love.”

“Don’t say it, I don’t want to be.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Erik.”

“Is this because you’ve always been into girls?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been with men before!” Charles cried indignantly.

“Then why? Why deny yourself what you want?”

“Because he’s Erik.”

“You keep saying that-”

“Because what we have is perfect. Chess and training and banter. Why would I risk that?”

“Because sex is better than banter?” Raven grinned.

“At the end of the day, it’ll come down to choosing between staying with me and killing Shaw,” Charles said seriously, suddenly seeming a lot more sober. “And he’ll choose Shaw. And I can’t condone what he’s going to do, but I don’t want to deny him his revenge. He needs it. Why is this so complicated?” he looked up at his sister.

“Life is complicated,” she shrugged, pushing Charles into sitting. “Listen, denying yourself something that’ll make you happy - no matter if it’s for an hour, for a week or forever - is not the right thing to do.”

“Raven, please-”

“No, Charles, _listen_. All ideological arguments aside, do you have feelings for Erik?”

Charles was silent, considering his answer. He thought of how he and Erik had met - how he’d instinctively known that saving that man’s life was imperative, how he’d felt telling Erik that he was not alone and how he felt it applied to himself at the same time. He thought of how Erik sometimes looked at him as though he was sharing some private joke that was just between them. He thought of Erik leaving and felt as though something painful was twisting in his chest.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t give up on him until you have to. Give him something that will make him remember you. Something that will make him want to stay.” Charles sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“I don’t remember ever feeling like this about anyone, or having it hit quite so suddenly or quite so hard,” he said quietly.

“How terribly unfortunate.”

“I’d say that has something to do with your denying it so strongly, and possibly because you’ve never been in love before,” Raven replied. “Now you should probably go and sober up for dinner.”

“When did you get so wise?” Charles asked with a small smile.

“It comes from growing up around you,” she replied, wrapping an arm around his middle in a quick hug. “Oh, and you should probably know that Erik knows you’re his secret gift giver,” she added.

“How does he know that?”

“He guessed. You’re quite right, the love of your life is rather clever. Better think of a good present by tomorrow,” she grinned, leaving Charles to his utterly tangled thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on Christmas Eve to get into the spirit but kept getting distracted by, well, Christmas and still haven't completely finished it, but I was really keen to start posting and FINALLY contribute to a fandom that I love so much!
> 
> This is my first attempt at a fic in the X-Men fandom, let alone with my favourite pairing of Charles and Erik. I tried to keep them in character but sometimes they just won't behave! Hopefully it's not utter nonsense - feedback would be greatly appreciated!


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